Living Wilder

by Leigh Tudor

  They switched places. Loren dampened a washcloth, folded it over and laid it on the back of her neck. She glanced at her phone and checked the time.

  “Alec should be here any minute to pick up Ally. He gave us an hour to gather facts and all we’ve managed to get are some pretty snide eyerolls and a number of condescending snorts.” A thought came to her. She clicked her fingers. “Maybe separating them will be bring about more intel.”

  Mercy’s head bobbed in contemplation. “Riiight, divide and conquer. Oh, I know, we could separate them and then tell them that the other ratted them out to draw out their confessions.”

  Resting her arms on the porcelain sink, Loren looked up with squinty eyes. “This isn’t an episode of ‘NCIS.’”

  After binge-watching hundreds of hours on as many social media platforms as possible to better understand culture, slang, appropriate clothing choices, and tasteful home decorating tips, Loren realized Mercy might have gone into overload with the police detective shows.

  Mercy checked herself out in the mirror, running her fingers through her chin-length hair. “Disagree. Remember when we separated those two low-level lackeys from the mafia and got them to cough up information on their boss’s money laundering scheme?”

  Loren’s shoulders fell. “Threatening to smash their fingers with a sledgehammer might have been what teased the intel out of them.”

  “Hey, at this point, I am not opposed to physical threats.”

  Loren heaved a long sigh, mentally exhausted. “Not sure that’s the best approach for two fourteen-year-old girls.”

  Cara was suffering from multiple personalities and Mercy was keeping secrets regarding their Russian houseguest, who was currently hiding out in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

  On top of that, she had a hot-headed, hot-bodied neighbor who made her feel all gooey inside one minute and like a rabid honey badger the next.

  All she’d wanted was to give her sisters the family life they’d never had living at the Center and she was failing miserably. Nothing was going right. No one was happy and she was a parental failure.

  Loren sat on the toilet lid with her elbows resting on her knees. Their family situation couldn’t have been more opposite of that of her beloved Ingalls.

  If memory served, only one Ingalls family member at a time went through some sort of personal crisis. Whereby the entire family would come together with outstretched arms, a fair amount of gratuitous crying, and an outpouring of unconditional love.

  Loren could do without the waterworks but wouldn’t mind if they could agree to take turns with their traumas. Some unconditional love sprinkled here and there would also be nice.

  Loren stood, indicating it was time to exit their haven.

  Once back into the fray, they re-doubled their efforts. But no amount of threats could compel either teenager to cough up the names of their accomplices or reasons for their sulky behavior.

  When Alec showed up at the front door to pick up Ally, he was wearing a threadbare hoodie, an equally worn pair of jeans and an expression that read he was a hair’s breadth away from losing his shit.

  Loren suddenly felt light-headed.

  And aroused.

  Ally gathered her overnight bag with the urgency of a drunken snail and turned toward her comrade. They locked arms around one another in an overly dramatic hug.

  Loren rolled her eyes.

  Ally turned toward the door and faltered a bit once her eyes met those of her livid brother and Loren couldn’t help but smirk with satisfaction at the first sign of fear from either girl.

  Now if she could only have the same effect on her demonic sister.

  Alec glared at Ally and gave a head nod toward the front door, indicating it was time to hit the green mile.

  Loren all but lunged in front of them to open the door just so she’d have an excuse to stand inches from Alec’s body and verify the scent wafting from his skin was from a bar of Irish Spring soap.

  She breathed in with as much discretion as was humanly possible.

  Ally walked out first after sending a sullen glance at Cara.

  Loren prayed that Alec would, at the very least, look at her, but he simply gave her a head nod and walked out the door, not bothering to meet her eyes.

  Loren dug deep and channeled her own inner authoritarian figure, and within minutes, Cara’s eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip trembled as Loren informed her that she would not be playing the piano until further notice.

  That was, unless she finally agreed to tell them everything. Where they went, why, and with whom.

  The little termagant still refused to cave.

  But instead of feeling justified in exacting the brutal punishment, it only made Loren inexplicably sad.

  Sad, knowing that Cara considered playing the piano as necessary to her existence as breathing air. But she didn’t know what else to do. How was she supposed to protect her if she refused to spill information or failed to show the slightest remorse?

  Alec expressed the same amount of frustration with Ally through a few sparse texts. Apparently, the two girls were digging in their heels, despite the indefinite timeframe of each of their punishments.

  Two interminable days later, it was Sunday. Loren and Mercy had racked up about six months’ worth of church attendances that had compounded due to their inability to spew a curse word without Cara being within hearing range.

  Ironic how each of them was undergoing some form of punishment.

  And that posed another problem. What should Loren do about Cara attending church?

  Cara loved church.

  But she was being punished.

  Should Loren keep her from attending the morning service and risk missing an important message from Pastor Roberts potentially relative to her punishment? Something along the lines of: “Thou shall not lie to your sisters and disappear to Dallas for a Queen concert?” Or, did they all stay home to make Cara as devoid of happiness as possible, which included policing the piano?

  It didn’t take long for Loren to realize that Cara’s punishment didn’t just hamper her little sister’s happiness, but hers and Mercy’s as well.

  All three sisters made their way through the church’s parking lot and front grounds, stopping to say hello to each of their friends. Mercy introduced Vlad to a few of the church members, as he had insisted on attending, shadowing every move she made with a reserved commitment.

  Mercy whispered to Loren, “Cara’s hair doesn’t seem to be fading any time soon. And what’s with her clothes?”

  Loren was just as shocked to see Cara trudge down the stairs that morning wearing black leggings, black tee, combat boots and a leather jacket, her hair still a neon-bright orange.

  Loren and Mercy had voluntarily toned down their attire to counterbalance Cara’s digression to the dark side, wearing modest hems and necklines and actual colors rather than black-on-black.

  “I’m half afraid to check the balance on her credit card,” Loren whispered back, referring to the card she gave her for emergencies only. She didn’t have the energy to confront her for yet another transgression.

  “I don’t like that Cara is keeping so many secrets,” Mercy commented under her breath.

  Loren stopped and looked her straight in the eye. “Pot, let me introduce you to Kettle.”

  Mercy avoided Loren’s eyes.

  Loren continued. “You know you can tell me anything.”

  “Nothing to tell,” she said, waving at one of her Saturday morning art students.

  “That’s not the way Vlad sees it.”

  “It’s a long story,” Mercy replied under her breath.

  “There’s a story? You’re telling me that you two have a story?”

  Mercy pulled on her arm. “Keep your voice down; he’ll hear you. We’ll talk later.”

  Loren seriously doubted that. Mercy was as tight-lipped about her relationship with Vlad as Cara was about her multiple personality complex.

  When they en
tered the narthex, Cara instantly found Ally with Alec several feet ahead of them, making their way to the pews. The girls nodded clandestinely at one another.

  Loren leaned toward Mercy. “Look at them. It’s as if they just completed a top-secret mission.”

  Mercy smirked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they carried a vial of cyanide to ingest under the direst of circumstances— drama queens.”

  Regardless, Loren was relieved to see that Alec allowed Ally to attend church, too. Maybe she wasn’t an abject parental failure after all. One thing was certain, she was going to get to the bottom of what was going on with Cara and Ally, and she would use every trick in the book, and counterintelligence ploy, to do it.

  And then she’d attend to Mercy and Vlad.

  After the service, which, unfortunately, failed to deliver the custom message Loren had hoped for, she banished Cara to the car while they mingled with the congregation.

  Lucky for Loren, it didn’t take long for the gossip chain within the small town of Wilder to deliver a snippet of intelligence she could leverage.

  Becky Waterman pulled Loren aside as Mercy introduced Vlad to Pastor Roberts. “What’s this I hear about you harboring a sexy Russian fugitive?”

  Loren chuckled. “If Vlad’s a Russian fugitive, I’m a highly trained mercenary capable of bringing a two-hundred-pound man down with my forefingers.”

  Becky’s eyes narrowed. “That was rather . . . specific.”

  “Sorry, just tired of the inaccurate rumors floating around.”

  “Oh, you mean the one in which he’s the wealthy father of your love child, and he’s come to Wilder to spirit you back to Moscow?”

  “Actually, I was fonder of the one in which he’s Russian royalty looking for his long-lost sisters. . . .”

  “Let me guess, that makes the three of you Russian princesses? Am I right? Wait, didn’t they make a Disney movie about that?”

  Loren smiled, thinking of one particular filthy rich wife of a rather unscrupulous Russian politician. A vapid woman who was completely unaware that her painting of the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia, hanging over her gilded fireplace, was nothing more than a worthless fake.

  Mercy had really outdone herself on that one.

  Alec and Ally walked out of the church, and Becky quickly switched conversation gears as they watched Alec make his way down the church steps. “So, how are things going with your neighbor? Has he managed to plow your field?”

  “No,” Loren hissed. “Trust me, he has no interest in doing anything with my ‘field.’”

  “Actually, I meant that literally. Rumor is he’s considering leasing out his land and taking a town job.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Apparently, Alec hates farming.”

  “He does?”

  Becky nodded. “And with what’s going on at school, I wouldn’t blame him for moving into town. He and Ally are just a little too isolated, if you ask me.”

  Holding Becky by the forearm, Loren forced her attention from Alec. “What do you mean, ‘with what’s going on at school’?”

  Becky pulled her head back. “You don’t know? Cara didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Ally is being bullied by some of the older girls at school. It’s been going on for months.”

  “Bullied? Why?”

  “Because girls are spiteful little bitches, and there’s this one girl and her crew who are at the top of the Mean Girl food chain. You remember Susie Mabry from self-defense class? The one who couldn’t do a decent push-up to save her soul? She had to move a county over to get her daughter away from the little wretches. Samantha steers clear of them, and I’m afraid that means steering clear of Ally and Cara, too.”

  “So as not to become collateral damage,” Loren mused. She refocused, biting her bottom lip. “I wonder if this has anything to do with the girls going to Dallas last Friday night?”

  “Wait, what? Who went to Dallas?”

  Loren clued her in on Cara and Ally’s jaunt to Dallas, and Becky shook her head and shrugged. “That I know nothing about. I’ll ask Samantha and let you know if she knows anything. She did say that since Ally and Cara have become friends, the older girls are starting to pick on your sister, too. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

  Loren began to unconsciously open and close her fists, the blood racing through her veins. She couldn’t stand the thought of older girls making Cara and Ally’s lives miserable at school.

  She refused to allow anyone to mess with her sisters. They might be a highly dysfunctional, barely compatible excuse for a family, but they were all she had in this world, and each of them deserved some level of happiness after what they’d endured over the past several years.

  She took a deep breath, cracked her neck on both sides and crossed her arms over her chest. “Names, Becky. I’m gonna need names.”

  Becky leaned in as if sharing high-security-level secrets, “There’s three of them,” she said, leaning even closer. “Jenny Morris and Amanda Baker. Amarilla Simmons is the ring leader.”

  Loren smiled with the same level of satisfaction she felt after uncovering the identity of a low-profile, highly dangerous Venezuelan drug lord. A man both short and hefty who reeked of sweet onions and rather shoddily laundered money through a Hispanic restaurant in downtown Miami. Like Jorge, she’d expose Amarilla Simmons with the same level of ruthless tenacity.

  Alec grabbed his jacket from the hook by the front door when the doorbell rang.

  A rare occurrence.

  Ally wasn’t allowed to have friends over since being grounded, and he rarely had solicitors travel out to his place. He looked out the side window to see Loren wearing all black with the exception of a red bandana around her neck. Her hair was tucked up in a black knit beanie and she bounced from one foot to another, probably at the sudden decrease in temperature.

  Fucking adorable woman.

  Who had a Russian boyfriend. Or was he Ukrainian?

  He grasped the doorknob with resolve, whipping it open, and holding on to the top edge as if his life depended on it. “Why are you dressed like a cat burglar from the ’fifty’s movie To Catch a Thief?”

  She shrugged. “Coincidence, I guess. Never saw it.” She whisked past him, meandering around the room and honing in on the wall of family pictures. “I only watch contemporary movies to better understand pop culture and certain social cues.”

  He forced himself to remain rooted at the door, despite his rampant desire to move closer. Her hair was hidden under her beanie, which only enhanced the delicate features of her face. Without makeup she appeared younger, maybe even a little bit innocent. His eyes trailed further down, lingering on the slight curve in her back and then on to her heart-shaped ass.

  Wait, why was she wearing all black? Down to her combat boots? “That’s why you’re dressed like a sniper? Because of being home-schooled, you lack certain social cues, like, how to dress for the occasion?”

  She turned her head toward him with a wry smile. “You could say that.”

  He shifted uncomfortably as she continued to peruse the dozen or so photos he couldn’t bring himself to take down. “So, what else did you learn by watching contemporary movies?”

  Her eyes moved to a picture of Alec and Ally with his parents, taken a few weeks before the accident.

  “Forest Gump. Filmed in nineteen ninety-four.” She touched the picture with what seemed reverence. “A movie about a mentally impaired man with a heart of gold who transforms the lives of those around him.” Her fingers curled inward and then she turned her head toward him, with shadowed eyes.

  Those eyes. They were so full of heartache they practically gutted him.

  “Let me guess, you learned to never judge a book by its cover?”

  “That,” she said, “And that character can win out over a high IQ.”

  She moved on to the next picture to the right. Ally blowing out her candles
on her tenth birthday. He and his parents were clapping as if she’d just won a Nobel prize.

  Alec watched as she seemed entranced and oddly stricken by the family-oriented photos.

  “What other movies gave you profound insights?” Alec asked in an effort to keep her talking, wanting this seemingly rare and emotional side of her to continue. He sensed he was learning more than he was consciously aware from her commentary. Later, when he could better focus, he would connect the pieces of information with her demeanor, hopefully determining who she was, or wasn’t. For now, he wanted to concentrate on those nearly imperceptible movements that told you far more about who a person was and the beliefs they held at their core.

  Loren moved on to the photo of him and his dad holding up a bass during one of their annual fishing trips.

  Two days prior to the picture being taken, Alec had turned sixteen and pitched a fit about having to go on the trip as he was missing an epic party hosted by the football team. He argued with his mother that he was the captain, and therefore obligated to go.

  Thank God, she didn’t budge.

  His dad had been ecstatic.

  Alec had acted like an entitled shit the entire time.

  But he wouldn’t give up the memory of sitting for hours next to his dad in an old fishing boat for the world.

  Loren cut into his thoughts. “Hacksaw Ridge, twenty-sixteen. A WWII Army medic refuses to kill people and becomes the first person in American history to receive the Medal of Honor without firing a shot.”

  “And what significance did avoiding indiscriminate killing have in respect to your sheltered life?”

  She turned to him, expressionless. “It taught me the importance of having moral courage. Speaking up for others and doing what’s right instead of what you’re told.” She smiled wryly, her eyes moving back to the picture. “But what the movie didn’t tell you was that sometimes doing what’s right can blur the lines of morality.”

  She was a conundrum. One minute she came off as trite and sassy, and the next, she was somber and angsty.